


A Party Invitation

by TheStrange_One



Series: 12 Days of Christmas 2020 [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28062939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrange_One/pseuds/TheStrange_One
Summary: Deadpool throws a party and invites his favorite supers.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: 12 Days of Christmas 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2054064
Comments: 18
Kudos: 100





	A Party Invitation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jordanparker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jordanparker/gifts).



> Normally I use a generic Peter Parker that people can use to project their favorite version of the character on, but this one actually uses a specific Peter Parker; the one who was taken over by Doctor Octopus (who used Peter's body to found a new company), and took a while before he was able to get his original body back.

“Aw, c’mon,” goaded Peter as he dodged lasers. “Attacking a charity event this time of year? Where’s your Christmas spirit?” He shot a couple webs at the villain.

The villain, looking like a bizarre (and Peter knew bizarre, had lunch with it on a daily basis) cross between a human, a hedgehog, and two cannons, roared. The cannons spun of their own accord and shot more lasers at him. He dodged them all, of course, and webbed the thing up into immobility after.

Around them other supers, most notably the Avengers, were fighting identical monsters. He swung into action shooting a web that pinned one of the creatures that was attacking Black Widow. The woman nodded at him. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Peter said as he waltzed towards her, easily dodging the lasers. “But it would be nice if you kept your mad scientists out of the city. I’ve got enough of my own to put people in danger.”

Widow turned and took out a monster with a single, hard punch. “We’ll keep that in mind,” she said tersely.

Peter shot her a couple of finger guns. “You do that,” he said before ducking another laser. His sense went off and he dodged to the side, grabbing the Widow on his way, just as part of the ceiling dropped down where they were.

“Gasp!” cried a voice. “You started the party _without_ me?”

Peter grinned. He’d always had a sneaking fondness for Deadpool. “Well, you’re free to drop by,” he joked. He webbed one of the monsters that came up behind the (former) mercenary.

Not that Peter had ever asked him to stop. Wade had just decided, since Peter didn’t like the idea of killing for money, that he’d go a more legit route. Peter was so touched by this he didn’t tell Wade that he had almost zero respect or trust in SHIELD. After all, maybe they’d reign in their destructive impulses when the person on the other end had a reputation for killing people and treat Wade with nothing but respect (and maybe a little fear).

Deadpool spun firing off three perfect kill shots before ejecting the empty magazine from his gun and reloading. “Just call me the party crasher!” the man joked.

“Well, Party Crasher, I’m going to have to ask you to join the cleanup crew,” Peter joked.

Deadpool gave a fake sniff as he shot six more of the creatures. “Is that all I am to you?” he asked, voice laden with fake upset. “The help?”

Peter shot some web at the creature that thought it could leap onto Deadpool, pinning to the wall behind the man. As _if_ Peter would allow anyone past Deadpool’s guard. “Now, now,” he said, enjoying their play to the hilt. “If you’re a _good_ boy, I’ll even let you have leftovers.”

Deadpool looked at him, pointed his gun at him, and looked like he was going to shoot Peter. Peter’s sense didn’t go off, so he didn’t even flinch when Wade pulled the trigger, killing a creature that thought it could attack _Peter’s_ blind spot. “Oh, well, if you say so,” Deadpool said giggling maniacally. “But none of that bread and drippings shit: I want the _real_ goodies.”

“You fiend!” protested Peter, enjoying both the game he and Deadpool were playing and the way the Avengers were staring at the two of them in the middle of the fight. "The bread and drippings are the best part!"

He knew it had been a charity banquet and all, but why had Captain America left his shield at home? The thing was practically a charity draw in and of itself. Instead of auctioning off dates with superheroes, they could have auctioned off the right to touch the shield. And, knowing the elite of New York like Peter did, made more money for the charity.

Soon all the monsters were either dead, unconscious, or webbed into immobility. “Good job, Deadpool,” said Peter warmly.

Deadpool fluttered a hand as if he was waving a fan. “I do declare,” he said in the worst Southern accent in history, “you are giving poor little me the vapors.”

Peter recoiled in fake horror. “Not the vapors!” he protested.

If the two of them had been alone, Peter would have offered to kiss them away. As it was, they were interrupted by Captain America. “Thank you for your hard work,” he said looking between them.

Wade squealed. “Captain Underpants gave his seal of approval!”

Peter grinned under his mask. Steve just looked uncomfortable. “Yes. Well. Thank you.” The man turned.

“Oh, wait! Wait!” said Deadpool. He rummaged through his pouches. “Damn these people for not putting pockets in!” he muttered. “I know I like to look pretty, but I like pockets too, ya know? Here we go!” He pulled out—envelopes.

The envelopes were covered in gold gilt and accented with red and green glitter. Peter watched with amusement as Wade went around the room handing each Avenger an envelope, saving Peter for last. Peter looked at the envelope and gave a low whistle. Pebbled velum was not a cheap paper to use, and the gold glint looked professionally done, even if the glitter appeared to have been added by a sloppy hand after.

“I’m inviting all of you to my Christmas party!” said Wade as he threw glitter into the air. It sparkled as it fell and Peter opened his envelope to find, yup, an address on the inside. To a rather shady warehouse that he’d been watching because a group of well-known mercenaries had been seen coming and going—which made sense if Deadpool was setting up a party there. Most of the people he knew were mercenaries.

“Sounds like fun,” said Peter as he scanned the invite. He grinned when he saw the asterisk next to a hand written _I have booze for super people who can’t get drunk_.

“We’ll think about it,” said Tony. Peter couldn't help but notice that Stark put the invitation down, unopened, on an overturned table.

He knew if _he_ noticed, then Wade most definitely had.

Well, Peter hadn’t wanted to attend a party with the Avengers anyway. Look what happened at _this_ one. To keep Wade from thinking too hard about the fact that the superheroes were ditching his invitations, Peter spoke up. “Classy invite,” he said.

Wade visibly perked up as the other people in the room (Peter was hesitant to call them _heroes_ after the way they were treating Wade) shifted nervously. “You think so?”

“Absolutely. You got a theme for this party?” he asked.

“A theme? Oh, yeah, a theme!” Wade laughed. “It’s called, ‘Please show up’.”

Peter winced. He knew why that was the theme of Wade’s party. He _hated_ that Wade felt it necessary for that to be the theme of his party.

“It’s time for us to write a report of the damages,” said Tony, ignoring Wade. Peter saw the other man’s shoulder’s sag slightly and glared at Tony. The armored hero couldn't see the glare through Peter’s mask, but he didn’t care. “Spider-Man, you’re coming.”

Peter knew that Wade was hurt, because the man ignored the innuendo. “I’ll just be—I’ll just be getting things ready,” Deadpool said before slinking off. Peter turned to follow him and a metal gloved hand grabbed his arm.

Peter looked up from the hand on his arm to the arm it was attached to. Slowly his gaze traveled up until he was looking at Tony, who had ditched the helmet and torso, but still had the arms and legs of the suit. “Let go of me.” Anger hummed through his words as rage simmered in his veins.

Black Widow frowned at him from across the room as Tony both let go and took a step away. “We’re your _allies_ ,” she told him.

Peter laughed. His allies. Sure they were. That was why they’d taunted him with the idea of being an Avenger, holding the title over his head like a juicy carrot they wanted to dangle when they wanted someone to do the dirty work, to make the hard choices, to get the worst publicity. That was why they’d believed that an impostor who’d taken over his body had _been_ him—even after watching the impostor kill someone in cold blood. That was why they’d sent him, alone and without even the most basic of aid—like, say, a communicator of some kind—to capture an out of control rampaging Hulk.

He stopped laughing with a gasp and made a show of wiping a tear from his eye. “Oh, that was a good one.” He shot her two finger guns before heading towards the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Aw. Tony sounded frustrated. Peter held up his invitation. “I,” he said firmly, “have a party to go to.”

Tony scowled at him. “What would Parker say?”

Never had Peter been so glad to be his own employer. He stalked across the room and slung an arm over Tony’s shoulder’s. He had to stand on his tip-toes to reach, but it was the look of the thing. “That’s a good question,” he admitted. “But you see, I know _exactly_ what Peter Parker would say about tonight. Would you like to know?” Peter kept his voice soft and reasonable.

“What?” asked Tony. The man looked as though he couldn't tell if he needed to be concerned or bask in the attention.

Peter waved a hand at the wall in front of them. “He’d say, ‘Good job, Spider-Man, getting everyone out safely. Why, not a _single_ civilian was injured from the cook staff to the wait staff to the guests. After all, mere things can be replaced, but every human is important.’ And they are.” Peter let go and “gently” (making the man stagger a bit, but still landing on the armor backing) smacked Tony on the back.

Peter supposed he should be worried about his alter ego being exposed—but if these idiots hadn’t figured out that a super villain had taken hold of his mind after watching “him” kill a man in cold blood then they’d never figure out just what was behind the personality shift of the CEO of Parker Industries.

Peter looked at the “heroes” in the room. All of them had had a chance to help, or at least not do harm to Peter. They had all, at one time or another, taken the most painful route for Peter possible. Part of him hated them. Hated what they stood for. Had to deal with it anyway.

And who had been there? Deadpool. Who had noticed there was something severely wrong with Spider-Man? Deadpool. Who had saved Spider-Man? Deadpool.

Yeah, okay. He’d decided that Spider-Man needed protecting from Peter Parker and had killed him to get it, but he’d gone back and fixed everything and that was the important part. He hadn’t been _trying_ to hurt Spider-Man, which was more than Peter could say about the Avengers in front of him.

“Now, look,” he said firmly as he made eye contact with each and every single one of them. Not that they could tell through his mask, but he thought it was important nonetheless. “I know I’m only thirty, but I’ve been Spider-Man for almost twenty years now, and I know who my allies are.” He turned and walked out.

As he passed through the door he heard one of them shout, “You started when you were _how_ old?”

Wade paced the warehouse floor. Tall trees decked in so many decorations the limbs bowed under the weight? Check. Sparkly, colored garland winding along all the walls? Check. Christmas lights tacked almost every surface? Check. Cakes, cookies, brownies, and booze on the tables? Double check.

All that was missing were guests.

Wade wasn’t an idiot. He knew that, despite the invitation (or because of it), none of the Big A group was going to come. Iron Dick still had a stick up his ass when it came to Wade, and the others took their cue from their sugar daddy. (He couldn't really blame them; they got to play with some cool toys courtesy of Stark.) So, he knew they weren’t coming.

They never did. He’d been trying to throw a hero Christmas party for three years. Last year, he’d gotten so desperate for a guest that he’d tried luring Jessica Jones towards his chosen location (the bottom floor of a condemned building last year) with bottles of the hardcore booze he’d gotten. He still wasn’t sure if he’d overestimated her alcohol tolerance, or if she just hadn’t expected the punch his booze gave, but she’d passed out long before she’d ever reached the party place. (Wade, gentleman that he could be, had made sure to see her safely to her home.)

But, this year, Spider-babe was not only back in the driver’s seat, so to speak, but had been there for an invitation. And he still joked around with Wade (despite that mess back in January where Wade had killed Peter Parker…twice). So—maybe Spidey would come?

Not if Tin Prick had anything to say about it, Wade knew. If it were possible, the man would do everything possible to make sure that no one, well, no one even slightly heroic, would go to Wade’s party. Something about it being “bad for public image.”

Which, yeah, okay, Wade got it. He was bad for the public image and he wouldn't argue that. Bud did that really mean they couldn't take the time to attend just one Christmas party? Did they really hate him that much?

Yeah, Wade didn’t know who he was fooling either. Of course they hated him that much. When they looked at Wade they saw an uncontrollable insane mutant who only saw sanity from a galaxy spanning distance. Of course they didn’t want anything to do with him. If he’d been them, _he_ wouldn't want anything to do with him.

Maybe he should just save them effort of trying to get rid of him and—

A swift knocking alerted him to someone at the door. Knocking? A guest!

Wade raced over to the door and threw it open. There, standing on the other side, was Peter. The man’s hair was still slicked back (but slightly rumpled from time under the mask). His suit was wrinkled, as though it had been hastily dropped to the floor before being picked up again.

Wade was so shocked to see Peter that he almost didn’t notice the heavenly smell coming from the two large paper takeout bags that Peter was holding.

“So,” said Peter with a lopsided grin as he entered the warehouse, “fun fact: when monsters created by evil scientists crash a charity gala, everybody flees the kitchen. Leaving,” Peter waved one of the bags at Wade with a flourish, “the lovely, tasty, turkey chimichangas with stuffing, gravy, and cranberry sauce.”

Wade took the bag from him and inhaled the scent. “And you took them all?” he asked as he opened the bag. It was full of tiny little takeout trays, each with a tiny little chimichanga on it, covered in a dark purple-red sauce.

Peter snorted. “Why not?” he asked. “I paid for it. Not _my_ fault the guests fled. Besides,” he added with a gentle smack to Wade’s shoulder, “I spent too much time hungry as a youth to let food go to waste now. Got any music in this party?”

“Ah!” cried Wade as he smacked himself in the head. “Music! I knew I was forgetting something!” He would have gone further, but he was distracted by Peter taking off the blazer jacket of his suit.

“No worries,” said Peter casually as he set the jacket aside and loosened his tie. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Yeah!” said Wade as he punched the air. “This is the best Christmas ever!”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, these events did happen in the comics. I think the storyline got retconned, bu they still happened. Poor Peter.


End file.
